


No Commander Here

by Athena02



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Azgeda Steals the Flame, Clexa, F/F, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Headcanon, How Season 3 Should Have Gone, I'm going to keep ignoring everything past the sex scene in 307 until I die, Lexa with swords, Revenge, Titus is Still A Traitor, Trigedasleng, Vengeful Clarke, but don't worry it's not excessive I'm not JRot, tw: torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athena02/pseuds/Athena02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Doubt gnaws at the edge of Lexa's mind. Shame weighs on her shoulders, and humiliation at defeat. The pain-and oh how much pain there is- is nothing compared to the hot knife of worried longing when she thinks of Clarke." An Azgeda rebellion, Lexa robbed of The Flame and kidnapped North, and Clarke in pursuit. Drabble/fixit ignoring 307. Clexa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Commander Here

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine though season 3 going differently…

No Commander Here

Athena02

 

xXxXx

Azgeda’s coup isn’t triggered by solo gonplei in the arena. Nia knows she can’t win that way. Rather, in true Ice Nation fashion, it’s underhanded betrayal. She bargains with Titus: he gets a more pliant Commander, she gets to rule the 12 Grounder clans through her own pet Natblida, Ontari. He crafts reasons to send the Trikru gonas far from Polis, inventing bandits for Indra to chase near their borders.

Azgeda spies and moles and sleeper agents throughout Polis, rising up and leading a coup. Booted feet and warrior’s shouts one dark night, racing through the halls of the Commander’s tower.

Lexa puts up a ferocious fight. The knives she keeps close to her bed buy her some time, and she carves a bloody path to the door. But, as impeccable and fierce a warrior as she is, she can’t escape. She bleeds black- black as the moonless night of this dark evening- from a hundred wounds. She takes an arrow to the thigh the moment she bursts free from the main entrance, stumbling. She looks up, attempting to rise, when the butt of Roan’s spear collides with the side of her head and she slips into darkness. Roan taps her with the toe of his boot, and quickly gestures for Titus. The Fleimkepa hurries over, the glint of the scalpel in his hand as he crouches over the fallen Commander.

“ _Ascende superius_..”

XxX

Lexa awakens off and on along the journey, struggling against the pain, the fury, the helplessness. Blood leaks from a poorly sutured wound at the back of her neck, and she roars in anger at the profane betrayal of her advisor, of her alliance, of the absence of the Spirit. At this violation of everything she holds sacred; of everything she is.

She fights fiercely each time the caravan pauses on its journey north, but her captors rain blows on her until she quiets. Not in submission, never submission. But even without the quiet counsel of the past Commanders in her mind, she knows that even if her life is forfeit, she can sell it at a high price should Nia’s guards make any mistake.

Nia’s cruel streak shows along the journey. She gloats of her treachery, believing she has won. The queen delights in describing how Costia died in agony to Lexa, almost more than she does drawing the other woman’s blood at the command of her torturer’s flechettes.

Lexa laughs bitterly. Nia believes it is because her mind is broken, overwhelmed with shame and defeat.

But Lexa knows these torture sessions delay the journey, and her blood spattered against the trees leaves an easy trail to follow.

Her people will come for her.

Clarke will come for her.

She laughs at the queen, who orders the man with the sharp blades to continue.

XxXxX

Clarke is in Arkadia when the coup happens. She was facilitating trade agreements for the newest member of the Coalition, but Polis has not been far from her thoughts. She jolts awake at the first shouts of frantic Trigedasleng, quickly followed by the alarm bells from the guards. She is out of bed in no time flat, and her heart sinks in dread when she sees the source of the noise.

The scout is bloodied, blade coated in gore and eyes wild, shouting for Wanheda. Clarke’s voice is sharp as she demands the scout’s report.

A coup in Polis. Heda Leksa taken by Nia, robbed of her flame. Titus controlling Polis by proclamation, until Ontari takes the flame in the North and rules from Azgeda.

Clarke pushes down on the screaming pain blossoming in her heart, and her face is an icy mask. She channels determined fury, rallying Arkadia’s defenses, and tells the scout to have any of Indra’s warriors still in TonDC meet her at a certain location. Octavia and Lincoln demand to accompany Clarke, and Raven gives them everything they need. The scout points the way the caravan went, and rushes off to fulfill her duties to Wanheda.

They ride with haste, sleeping in the saddle, driving themselves as quickly as possible after the signs of the caravan carrying Lexa from Polis. The two halves of Clarke war within her: the Skayon woman afraid for her Trikru lover, versus Wanheda’s ferocious need for revenge.

XxXxX

Lexa does not break.

For days they humiliate and torture her. Ontari clutches the skull-adorned box that hides the flame, gloating about how she will enslave the members of the alliance and wipe out Skaikru. Her greatest dilemma, she tells Lexa, is if she should kill Clarke and make Lexa watch once she has Ascended, or make Clarke watch Lexa fall at the new Commander’s sword.

They leave her tied up against a tree when they go back to their tents, the chattering of her teeth in the cold of the northern night and the dull tapping of the blood dripping down her arms falling to the leaves below the only sound.

Doubt gnaws at the edge of Lexa’s mind. Shame weighs on her shoulders, and humiliation at defeat. The pain-and oh how much pain there is- is nothing compared to the hot knife of worried longing when she thinks of Clarke. How much easier this would be to endure if her mind, crying out for comfort, did not turn to her niron…

There is a gasp to her left, and a wet gurgle. She looks up, and sees her Azgeda guard clutching at the gaping wound in his throat.

Behind him, Lexa sees Lincoln. His face is dark with warpaint and his dagger bright with blood as he lowers the dead guard silently to the forest floor. Anger flashes in his eyes as he reaches Lexa.

Octavia is there, stepping out of the shadows as her blade drips red. They quickly cut Lexa down from her bonds, holding her up as she sags against them for a moment. “Heda, Na nou kamp roun…” Lincoln whispers.

“No…Nia….” Lexa grinds out each word, “jus drein jus daun.”

“Jus drein jus daun.” Clarke echoes, hurrying from the shadows. Her gun is in her hand, and a knife is at her belt. She crouches, her hand resting lightly on Lexa’s shoulder. Behind her, Lexa can see Trikru moving closer through the trees.

The gaze passing between them-green eyes drowning in blue-speaks volumes. Relief, love, fear, anger. Lust for vengeance. There is no time for kisses, or words of comfort. They are Heda and Wanheda, and an enemy yet remains. Octavia reaches over her shoulder, and presses Lexa’s swords into her hands.

“Together,” Clarke says, and Lexa nods. There’s a shout as a guard sees one of his comrade’s corpses, and the hunt begins.

Nia’s royal guards surround her, ushering her into the forest in a blind flight. A handful of Azgeda Gonas fight a delaying action, but are quickly cut down by the pursuing Trikru.

One by one, the royal guard falls. Each one sells his life in an attempt to extend his queen’s lead and survival, but none is a match for Heda Leksa’s blades.

Ontari’s selfishness is her undoing. The bag attached at her hip, which contains The Flame, snags on a broken branch. Rather than leave it, she attempts to tug it free. Clarke’s gun roars once, and she falls, a black rose of blood blossoming in the center of her chest. Octavia claims the bag without breaking stride.

They corner Nia at the base of a cliff. The sheer rock face blocks her path, and there is no obstacle between her and those she has wronged.

“No!” She shouts. “I am Heiplana of Azgeda. The Commander’s law…”

“I am not Heda, natrona. Because of your treachery, there is no Commander here.” Lexa’s fingers tighten on her blades, and her gaze briefly flickers to the bag slung over Octavia’s back. “Ai laik Leksa kom Trikru. Gona of a tribe you betrayed. Loukot to those you have murdered. Niron to one you mutilated. And jus drein jus daun is the only answer to your crimes.”

Lexa steps forward grimly, swords rising.

Nia looks to her left. There is a break in the undergrowth, just enough to slip through…

Lexa is an accomplished warrior, and recognizes her enemy intends to flee. She steps forward, her momentum carrying her in an ever faster whirling dance of blades. The steel flashes against the black of her clothes, against the dried Shadjus on her cheeks.

She is death. She is justice. She is vengeance. All in ferociously beautiful harmony.

She is Heda.

She smiles before her blades strike, and her eyes bore into Nia’s as she closes the last few steps between them.

Her blades flash, and with a whirling upturn of her wrists, the ruthless Azgeda leader dies. The last thing she sees is Lexa’s eyes, the smile that ghosts her lips.

Lexa smiles not because she enjoys the kill (though this battle will live in legend for centuries), but because Nia’s death is the price of peace. Of the end of a threat to everything Lexa cherishes and fights for. Her people. Her vision of peace. Her love for Clarke.

Lexa turns away from the body at her feet, facing her people. Her eyes meet Clarke’s, and the thrill of her victory is elevated when she recognizes the love and pride in Clarke’s eyes.

“Let’s go home,” she murmurs, and their voices and hearts rise in a thunderous cheer.

 


End file.
